


Countless

by ficteer



Series: basia [2]
Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 07:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3010448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficteer/pseuds/ficteer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abe remembers the first time he kissed Mihashi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Countless

He’d dreamed of all the different ways it would have happened: on the baseball field in the early morning when it was just the two of them and the curling mist, hands clasped together and Mihashi’s spine arched as the blond leaned in for the perfect smooch; or perhaps wandering the halls of the school, when Abe would notice that Mihashi was walking around with a grain of rice around his lips from lunch and this was the one time he wasn’t able to control himself any more; or perhaps in Mihashi’s bedroom, leaning that extra few centimeters when Mihashi leaned in to ask him a question about the English and Abe saying some cheesy line about showing him how to move his lips right. 

They’re all just dreams, fantasies, until the moment in their third year when they’re standing by the drink machine and Abe’s waiting for Mihashi to get his pocari so he can get one of his own. It’s hot, he’s thirsty, and lunch is almost over. Just when he thinks he probably should have offered to bend down and get the bottle out for Mihashi, the blond straightens, then presses the cold plastic bottle into Abe’s hands. “You first, Takaya,” Mihashi says, and Abe blinks down at him, not because of his first name (he and Mihashi had been addressing each other with them since second year, after all), and not because of the spontaneous kindness (just as he went out of his way to do things for Mihashi, Mihashi often went out of his way to do things for him); Abe’s breath seizes in his lungs because his pitcher is suddenly twining his fingers in Abe’s shirt by his hip, steadying himself, face tilting up and stealing every piece of Abe in a single rise to his tip toes.

It’s not much, just a quick brush of Mihashi’s lips beneath his own, a silent whisper of breath curling around his own and showing him that his two-year-long affections were not nearly as one-sided as he’d always thought. But in that single, chaste touch, every cell in Abe’s body hums to the perfect pitch of his singing heart as Mihashi pulls back to cover his mouth and the fiery blush on his cheeks. Mihashi’s eyes go wide as he comes back down to his heels, staring into Abe’s face, and when his hand falls to rest gently on Abe’s chest, his expression is one of awe, and then a slow smile blooming as he leans forward again to let their foreheads rest together. It was as unexpected as it was amazing (Mihashi looks just as surprised as he does, Abe thinks, later in the bath when he burns and remembers the moment with  _perfect_  clarity), and Abe stares into shimmering gold, too entranced to move.

“Let’s do that again,” Mihashi says, a delighted hush to his tone, and that was the beginning of the second time Abe kisses Mihashi.

\----------

The third time Abe kisses Mihashi, the blond steals a peck just before he reaches over to grab Abe’s hand tightly in his own. His batting glove obscures the exchange of body heat and keeps their skin from touching, but Abe knows what Mihashi’s hand feels like in his own, knows the perfect location of each callous, and he traces his thumb over the velcro strap comfortingly. He pulls the batting helmet on his pitcher, rubbing it and earning a slight squawk of protest.

“Watch your fingers,” Abe says, knowing that he’s staring at Mihashi’s lips as much as the blond is staring at his own, and when he presses his fingers to the softness of Mihashi’s wrist, he feels the pulse beating as quickly as it was in his own body. “Get the bunt down.”

“I will,” Mihashi responds, and when Abe finally manages to drag his eyes from those lips that had just been against his own so briefly he couldn’t hardly remember what it felt like, he looks at hazel that is as ironclad with determination as their battery wall had been the entire game. Mihashi’s eyes slowly rise up to meet his, and his grip shifts, their fingers twining together even as it tightens, and Mihashi inhales deeply before exhaling on a quivering smile.

\----------

The fourth time Abe kisses Mihashi is at Koushien stadium. Their first loss tastes of bitter defeat, a three-year dream of championship but a fingertip away, a twelve-inning baseball game, but also of each other, and it’s the first kiss Abe steals from the blond, except not even then, as it is freely given. There, the mound beneath his feet feels like the stage where they proclaim an unspoken promise to one another and to all of the spectators watching.

It’s only when he chokes on his cereal the next morning at the picture on the front page of the sports page of their kiss, captured and memorialized as a moment of crying defeat for Nishiura’s first years’ incredible rise to the stars, that Abe realizes just how public that promise had been.

\----------

The twentieth time Abe kisses Mihashi, it’s different than any of the other kisses he’d ever shared with him before. 

Abe denies the first few breaths on his mouth, feels Mihashi arching into his touch and straightens just enough to pull out of range. His actions earn him a soft noise of protest, but they’re soon quieted when he brings his hands up to cup Mihashi’s jaw, his fingers shaking under the weight of everything he feels when he whispers, “Ren.”

Mihashi’s eyes widen, and he stills, then closes them, tilting his face upwards, hands reaching up to clutch loosely at Abe’s wrists. His thumbs trace circles on Abe’s pulse, drawing it to quicken, and Abe closes his eyes, too, as slowly as he leans in, brushing his lips against Mihashi’s with the kind of reverence he always felt Mihashi deserved and never felt like he gave enough of. He studies each shiver as he brushes his lips softly over Mihashi’s curling smile, his skin dancing with some kind of magic when he tastes the soft exhale of his name. He parts his lips to swallow the sound, taking Mihashi’s lower lip between his own and gently tracing his tongue over the soft indentations where Mihashi’s teeth had tried to bite back his laughter earlier, and they taste like the cherry candy Mihashi loves and is allowed three pieces of a day on his strict professional diet. 

And then Mihashi exhales again, their lips separating and coming together again as Mihashi’s hands slide to the back of Abe’s neck, and when Mihashi tilts his head and presses in again, Abe wonders if this is their twenty first kiss, if this swallowed groan counts as their twenty second, and when his tongue traces the dip of Mihashi’s upper lip, he supposes it’s silly to try and count them all, when there will be no number large enough by the time he feels like he’s had enough.

\----------

The ??? time Abe kisses Mihashi, he doesn’t linger long.

He’s memorized the feel of Mihashi’s lips trembling against his, the way Mihashi’s fingers curl around his hair and tug in the directions Mihashi wants him most, exactly how each corner of Mihashi’s mouth produces every flavor of groan he’s ever wanted to hear. But this, the sound Mihashi makes when his lips trace a line on his jaw, the way Mihashi’s fingers curl and uncurl in waves on his shirt, each hitch of his breath with each centimeter of untasted skin Abe samples, this is new. New, too, is the way Mihashi nudges his nose against his temple, mouth panting hot breaths on his skin as Abe tries to remember how to breathe when his teeth discover that Mihashi has a special gasp for this place behind his ear. 

When Mihashi pulls, Abe follows, because Abe can tell Mihashi no to his cherry candies, he can tell Mihashi no to extra pitch practice, he can tell Mihashi no to extra hours of snuggling when they both have an early morning, but Abe can never tell Mihashi no when he asks like this, doesn’t  _want_  to tell Mihashi no, not when it’s exactly what he wants to pull back and see Mihashi’s head framed by the arm of the couch, skin as flushed as it had been after their first kiss by the school’s far drink machine.

“Takaya,” Mihashi murmurs, and Abe watches Mihashi’s lips curl around his name but he hears everything that his pitcher says underneath the syllables, feels every question in the hesitant caress of calloused fingers on his cheekbones, the way his touch trails to his lips and traces them in breathless worship. Abe presses a kiss against Mihashi’s fingertips, feels their shivering and slowly leans down, watching as Mihashi tilts his head back. He takes the invitation, carefully kissing the softness of skin beneath Mihashi’s jaw, tastes the quivering breath in taut skin, presses a line of kisses down to the vibration of silent sounds his ears can’t hear, and he makes sounds of his own, smothers them in the throat so tender beneath gentle teeth. It’s then that Mihashi’s hand returns to curling in his hair, holding him close, and Abe wonders if this counts as a kiss, if these are all added to the pile or if they’re some other kind of worship.

\----------

Abe kisses Mihashi after the first time the blond makes him come; or at least, he thinks he kisses him, but he’s not sure if this open-mouthed groan of Mihashi’s name against a sweat-streaked jaw counts. He’s not sure, and so he closes his mouth around the sounds he’s still panting out, kisses his way to lips that part and mold perfectly to his own, and Mihashi, so sweet and melty beneath him, grips his biceps tightly, trailing strong hands to his neck to hold on in a manner only describable as loving, his beautiful brow now smooth as he spills the secrets of Abe’s name into the kiss. He was as boneless as Abe felt, hand reaching down to Abe’s thighs and clenching his fingers into tired muscle, massaging gently.

“I love you, Takaya,” Mihashi whispers, and though their lips don’t touch, it feels like another kiss, this one directly to his heart, and he gives Mihashi one too, the same kind of touchless kiss, and he watches as the blond’s mouth curls into the kind of soft grin that Abe wanted to burn onto the back of his eyelids. 

\----------

Abe has long given up trying to decide how many kisses he has given Mihashi. He has long decided that kisses are not even things he always understands, things that can be given in words, or in hands pressed against his back in the night, or in pancakes shaped into hearts on his birthday, or in the way Mihashi always finds a way to sneak a love note into his pocket despite the fact Abe  _swears_  those pitching hands couldn’t possibly be  _that_  good. They were all kisses, sort of, just as much of a kiss as the brushing of their lips first thing in the morning when they blinked blearily into each other’s eyes, or when their mouths caressed each other thoughtfully when trying to decide what kind of toothpaste tasted better from the different samples the dentist had given them, or when they’re simply kissing because it’s another new year to find more ways to kiss that they hadn’t found yet and the fireworks are just as much in Abe’s gut as they are outside their apartment. 

But he’s okay with that, he decides, one evening when Mihashi has fallen asleep next to him on the couch. It’s okay not to know a number that didn’t matter, not when he could reach out so easily and take Mihashi’s hand in his own and bring it to his mouth for a gentle press of lips to skin as warm as it was soft, here on the back of Mihashi’s hand. 

There would always be one more.


End file.
